In A.D. 2011, war was beginning.

[pacifisted.livejournal.com]

WHO: 300,000 angry nerds and the Imports who fight them. Tag yourselves in, please!
WHERE: All around, but mostly near the Porter tower
WHEN: 7:30A May 18 - 3:13P May 20, 2011
WARNINGS: There is no fourth wall. Only Zuul. And violence. And probably bad language. And other things as well. JUST ASSUME THAT THIS LOG IS NOT FOR LIL'UNS.
SUMMARY: The Crabhammers declare war on the Porter and, to a lesser extent, the Imports. The battle lasts three days, is horrible in just about every way you can think of, and this is how it goes down.
FORMAT: However people wanna do it!

"There's no environment. Use your imagination. There's no fourth wall, whether it's the first time you've told this story about her life, or the sixth time."

Everything you need to know is here.

quick links to avoid crashy computers
in the fray
DAY ONE: 7:30 AM--10:00 AM (FIRST CHARGE, BROKEN TRAINS, TRAFFIC JAMS)
DAY ONE: 10:00 AM ONWARD (CONTINUED BATTLING, PUBLIC DISTURBANCES ELSEWHERE)
DAY ONE: 5:17 PM ONWARD (CONTINUED BATTLING, FIRES AND BOMBS ALL OVER)
DAY TWO: 1:00 AM -- 6:28 AM (CONTINUED BATTLING, ENEMY ENERGY DRINKS)
DAY TWO: 6:28 AM -- 12:00 PM (CONTINUED BATTLING, PIRATING THE RADIO STATION)
DAY TWO: 12:00 PM -- 7:42 PM (CONTINUED BATTLING, TOY RAIDS)
DAY TWO: 7:42 PM -- DAY THREE: 12:00 AM (CONTINUED BATTLING, ENEMY IMPORT-HATING REINFORCEMENTS)
DAY THREE: 12:01 AM ONWARD (CONTINUED BATTLING, HERE COMES THE CAVALRY)
DAY THREE: 6:45 AM -- 1:00 PM (CONTINUED BATTLING, CREATE YOUR OWN INSANE LAST-DITCH GEEK TRICKS)
DAY THREE: 1:00 PM -- 3:13 PM (CONTINUED BATTLING, THE MADAGASCARIAN TWENTY-GRAND HOLDOUT)
DAY THREE: 3:13 PM ONWARD (WAR OVER. TAKE PRISONERS, MAKE FRIENDS, GET HEALED, FALL ASLEEP, ETC)

not quite in the fray
DAY ONE: ALL DAY (ON THE SIDELINES, AT REST, TAKING BREAKS, ETC.)
DAY TWO: ALL DAY (ON THE SIDELINES, AT REST, TAKING BREAKS, ETC.)
DAY THREE: ALL DAY (ON THE SIDELINES, AT REST, TAKING BREAKS, ETC.)

fuck the fray
DAY ONE: ALL DAY (FORGET THE BATTLE, I HAVE HBO)
DAY TWO: ALL DAY (YOU LOSERS ARE STILL FIGHTING? IT'S AMERICAN IDOL TIME!)
DAY THREE: ALL DAY (IF YOU'RE ALL BUSY ELSEWHERE I'M JUST GONNA GO ROB A BANK)

Comments

[pacifisted.livejournal.com]

He barely had the energy to feel anything beyond being damn tired, but the question he'd already heard so many times that month from assorted Crabhammers trying to throw him off his game caused a brief, intense flare of irritation; only the hand on his upper arm and the glance from Quatre kept him from being snappish and saying something rude.

Instead, he held his tongue until he could be more civil, and nodded. Yes, I do.

As if the dam holding them all back had just been broken, more questions began pouring in, drowning the both of them in a veritable sea of voices.

"Do you have a satellite in space again?"

"Hey, so what did happen at New Edwards?"

"Are Dorothy's eyebrows really like that?"

"How did you solve the mobility issue with Sandrock's pauldrons?"

Trowa frowned, trying to figure out what question to answer first, if any. It was still really, really disturbing seeing a copy of himself and hearing about things he hadn't even lived yet from people who were never once there.

[pacifister]

"New Edwards?" Quatre mouthed the words, that particular question standing out just a little more than some of the others.

Because it implied that whatever they had seen showed that anything that wasn't the fight had happened. Which was one of those uncomfortable things that made him wonder exactly how much this rabble of strangers knew about his personal life and how much was merely assumptions.

Either way, he just shakes his head.

"If you want to know anything about Winner Corporation, we have a website. You can find details about our space program there."

"Hey. I've got my iPhone if you want."

"Oh! Thanks."

[pacifisted.livejournal.com]

While the blond was busy addressing the issue of satellites and the having (or having-not) of them, Trowa turned to look at the person wearing the plastic mobile suit.

"What mobility problems?"

He'd never seen Quatre have trouble with them before, but understood what the issue was pretty quickly when the person inside raised their arms in demonstration--only to be unable to lift them past their shoulders.

"Oh. You built them with the--"

A tighter squeeze on his arm closed his mouth again; changing his mind, Trowa finished the sentence with a new ending. It was a lie, but then, if they had access to this much money and armor already, who knew what they could do with simple steel.

"--wrong materials."

"Damn."

Another voice piped up, coming from one of his own reinforcements. Specifically, the guy in the cartoonish lion suit.

"When you were at the circus, you totally tapped that, right? Cathy?"

Trowa gave him a blank look, unsure of what the question referred to, unaware of the meaning to that particular bit of modern (or to him, historical) slang.

[pacifister]

Quatre coughed quietly into his hand then, not only knowing the slang, but also exactly how not pleased Trowa would be by the implication. The question earns the guy a derisive look from some, but every one is quiet, only polite now that their questions were beginning to be answered.

He didn't really know what to think, releasing Trowa's arm slowly.

"It means sex," he mumbled, too quiet for most of the people around them to overhear.

[pacifisted.livejournal.com]

Trowa's only reaction to the explanation was to pin the guy to the spot with the world's most intense glower of utter loathing.

"She's my sister," he ground out. It was all he needed to say; the ridiculous-looking lion suiter stammered a hasty excuse, realizing his error, and ran off to go find a mob he could join in on beating up.

Silence reigned for a few moments while Trowa quietly sat there stewing.

And then someone snapped their fingers in realization.

"Ah! Then that means you're Russian!" The woman turned to her cardboard-robot companion, elbowing him in the side before holding her hand out, palm-up. "Ten years I spent telling you he wasn't Latin American. Ten! Pay up."